


I Will Follow You Into the Dark

by comeoncomeout



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, Mental Illness, Secret Relationship, ballerina au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeoncomeout/pseuds/comeoncomeout
Summary: Sansa and Margaery in Tyrion Lannister's modern re-telling of Adolphe Adam's "Giselle".





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about ballet, but I did a good bit of research? Your feedback is welcome and much appreciated!

**Act I**  
  
Arriving an hour before the rest of the company, Sansa stretches her tired muscles, chanting encouragement to herself with each motion from the tips of her fingers to the point of her toes.  
  
Six months ago she had been broken, downtrodden, homesick. Her mother's less than uplifting mantra played over and over again in her mind like a curse.  
  
_Sansa, you are too naive and childish. Your heart will surely be broken. What will people think? That girl is trouble. She could not possibly love you. You could not possibly love her. How will she care for you with your condition when she will be promised to someone else? Your heart could stop beating at any moment. You will dance beside that girl to the gates of Hell._  
  
  
But Margaery's presence changed everything. When she discovered Sansa's dark thoughts, she could not allow them to continue eating away at her, causing her to hold back for fear of falling, fear of failing. Sansa let Margaery hold her whispering words of admiration, gentle as rose petals. She released all of her doubts until there was only Margaery, only the pas de deux of sure death. What was the point in living if there was nothing to die for?  
  
  
  
King's Landing Ballet was a cut-throat game of dancers, and never more so than now with the Spring Production under new reign. It had been quite the scandal to have Tywin Lannister step aside to focus on his smaller Casterly Rock Harrenhal Ballet company. His son Tyrion had taken his new position in stride in spite of the aggressive disapproval of his sister, Cersei.  
  
Sansa smiled fondly remembering Margaery's own assessment of this peculiar turn of events.

_Tywin always gives Cersei the lead role, but even he knows she is getting too old to continue dancing for the company. He would rather have Tyrion oust her, giving her minor roles for the next two productions. Either she'll finally do irreparable damage to her Achilles or she'll blame Tyrion instead of Tywin and move back to Casterly Rock. Wouldn't that be a dream? The witch back in the cave she crawled from, her head shoved so far up her father's..."_

Fifteen minutes before warm-ups, Margaery glided into the studio. Taking full advantage of their isolation, Margaery wrapped her arms around Sansa's waist and pulled her in to a deep, longing kiss.

Sansa allowed Margaery's tongue entrance and moaned into her lover's mouth. Pulling back slightly, she whispered, "Someone could come in at any moment."

Margaery sighed, leaving one chaste kiss on Sansa's lips but didn't let go, couldn't let go, "If only they knew how irresistibly sweet you taste, they would pay no mind to me feeding my addictions."

Sansa grinned and rolled her eyes, "You're such a charmer. Would you like to help me stretch?"

"I think we did a great deal of that last night."

Sansa blushed, remembering quite vividly, "Margaery!" She shook her head lightly and laughed before kissing her lover once more.  
  
  
During their morning exercises, Tyrion Lannister paced the room, giving instructions and criticism. He stopped in between Sansa and Margaery as the class extended into battement frappé. For the first time that morning, he gave encouragement. Tyrion called for the dancers to remain still and continued to pace as he spoke.

"It is time to discuss our spring production. As you know, we have chosen Adolph Adam's _Giselle_ , however I have chosen to modernize. I know it was the view of my father that ballet should be performed as it was originally intended. I would like to take a more.. pragmatic approach if you will. With careful deliberation, I have concluded that perchance, my ideas may draw more patrons to see our company. My reimagining is that Giselle did not love Albrecht, she loved only one and that was Bathilde, Albrecht's betrothed."

Quiet whispers filled the room as Tyrion stopped, front and center, clearing his throat before continuing.

"I do hope that some of you.." Tyrion set his sights on Sansa and Margaery, "Will audition for the main roles as I will be casting according to my own vision rather than.." Then his eyes fell on Cersei, "Who has been with the company the longest."  
  
  
  
Cersei was appalled, grimace permanently upon her face at each rehearsal as she danced along side her daughter, Myrcella and Daenerys Targaeryn as Myrtha, the merciless queen of the Wils.  
  
Petyr Baelish's stern expressions and mischievously hideous grin went well for him to dance the part of Hilarion. Sansa could not shake the goosebumps that rose on her skin every time the slimy worm and Harrold Hardying who was dancing as Albrecht tugged her during their pas de trios.  
  
Then the moment would be saved with Margaery as Bathilde entering to whisk her away as the men continued their feuding steps.

Dancing with Margaery was different than any danseur Sansa had been accustomed to having as a partner in her years of ballet. Tyrion's vision was beautifully put together with the chemistry of their movements.  
  
Sansa briefly wondered if Tyrion could see or had speculated what others in the company had simply ignored. There was an electric charge between them reverberating with their synchronized adagio.

Sansa being the taller ballerina was made to perform the traditional cavalier. Although she was the lead, this spoke a more honest message to the tragic story. Just as Giselle had made her own choice to fall for Bathilde, Sansa knew she had let herself love Margaery. Would it be her downfall?  
  
During their first run through Sansa channeled those emotions, truly becoming Giselle, and fearing her mother was right as the tragedy unfolded, Bathilde being revealed as Albrecht's betrothed. She danced her dance of death, reeling in the undeniable truth of it all. She fell into Ros's arms, but pictured her own mother's arms around her as the stage spotlighted on her broken figure.  
  
  
  
Two weeks before the production, Petyr asks Sansa to stay after rehearsal to practice their lift. They had executed the lift to perfection many times, but Petyr was insistent that they could use the extra preparations.  
  
Begrudgingly, Sansa accepted. Littlefinger, as Margaery called him behind his back to insinuate the lacking in his tights, was even more bothersome when it was only the two of them.  
  
He was unprofessionally intrusive, "I do apologize that my strength is no match for the charming Harrold Hardyng. You two are close, yes?"  
  
"He has been my partner for years." Sansa retorted with a small smile.  
  
Many had speculated that Harry fancied Sansa above all others. Of course, her partner was known for having many female _friends_. This line of gossip was of no concern to Sansa. In fact, a little suspicion was necessary to conceal her relationship with Margaery, and she knew the only reason her fellow dancers believed Harrold's affections for her were more of a romantic nature was because she wasn't sleeping with him.  
  
After landing from their lift, Petyr pried further, "You are also rather _friendly_ with Margaery if I am not mistaken."  
  
Sansa stilled. Perhaps Tyrion Lannister was not the only one who had removed his rose colored glasses, had noticed that the two lead ballerinas shared more than a depicted tragic love affair.  
  
However, Sansa _knew_ Petyr Baelish. Despite his gentle voice and soft spoken mannerisms, his demeanor was a farce. With each truth, two lies could be expected to fall from his serpent tongue. White lies are the only one way to outwit a snake.  
  
As Sansa looked at the sheep in wolves clothing before her, she smiled with the innocence of the maiden, "We are roommates, yes. And she is my ride home, so I must be going. You are an excellent cavalier Petyr. I have no doubt that our dance will be the highlight of the production."  
  
Petyr licked his lips, undressing the younger woman with his eyes, "Very well. I wouldn't want to keep your _roommate_ waiting, sweetling. May I escort you to your dressing room?"  
  
The insinuations from the salt and pepper haired man made Sansa's blood boil. Unable to contain her apprehension any longer she replied in a shaky tone, "I believe I can find it myself, thank you."  
  
Sansa walked away, Petyr calling out to her, "As you wish, but you may not like what you find on your way."  
  
  
Rubbing her clammy hands against the front of her leotard at her tummy, Sansa closed her eyes tight. She was shaking, anxiety welling in her chest. She heard a familiar sound. The same sound she, herself, had caused many times before.  
  
Peeking through Margaery's ajar dressing room door, she saw the woman she loved with both feet curled around muscular calves, being fucked against the wall. One of Margaery's hands tugging short blonde hair, the other squeezing bare ass, pulling Harrold Hardying deeper inside of her.  
  
  
Sansa shook her head, turning away from the moans coming from her girlfriend, forcing herself into her own dressing room.  
  
When she entered, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. She froze. Margaery was seated at her vanity, removing her make-up.  
  
The brunette walked over to her with a smirk, "You look a fright, sweet girl. Did Littlefinger try to weasel his way into our bed?"  
  
Sansa exhaled and allowed Margaery to wrap her thin arms around her waist, "Yes, and I told him your little finger does more for me than his ever could."  
  
Margaery laughed and skimmed her index finger down the curve of Sansa's spine, "Just this little finger?"  
  
The redhead shivered and pulled Margaery's arms away from her, "I'm exhausted. Let's go home."  
  
  
Margaery confronts Sansa after dress rehearsal a week before opening. Between rehearsals and her obligations to her family to allow eligible bachelors to court her fancies, the two dancers had, had little time together outside of the studio. Sansa had been withdrawn even when Margaery was home, too tired for sex, leaving before the other girl could wake, coming home at all hours of the night after rehearsing late.

"Babe, we need a night to relax. Let's go home." Margaery's beseeching tone betraying her normal breezy demeanor.

Sansa nodded and took Margaery's hand, leading her to her dressing room first. When they entered the dimly lit room, Sansa pushes Margaery against the door, her hands roaming.

"I'm not going to wait until we get home." She brings her lips to Margaery's throat feeling her secret lover's moans catching there as she slips her hand into Margaery's tights.

Sansa finds her rhythm easily, her fingers playing Margaery like a well orchestrated piece, making her ballerina dance with each deft movement.

"Sansa, what has gotten into you?" Margaery smirks against Sansa's neck as she gasps in ecstasy.

Sansa takes her free hand, moving Margaery's from her shoulder down the front of her body until it's placed where she wants it, where she needs it desperately. Margaery's touches always make her forget her reservations. They remind her why she's agreed to love this woman, to fuck this woman.

"Not you, _yet_. Fuck me, Margaery. I want to come with you."

The other woman lets her nostrils flare before capturing Sansa's lips whilst slipping their hands together into the red head's tights.

Margaery breaks away, short of breath, "Make me."

Sansa groans and works her own fingers into Margaery while fucking herself with Margaery's fingers. Taking full control is such a pleasant change, and she's surprised by how much her lover is enjoying this. The sounds of their wetness creates a beautiful harmony, the sweetest symphony taking over their senses as they come together, moaning a release so fascinating it was as if the gods themselves had written the music.

 _Let the whole world know that I am hers, and she is mine._  
  
  
**Intermission **  
****  
After the final week of preparations, after ravishing Margaery again and again each night after rehearsals, Sansa was ready to play the love-struck Giselle once more. The first act finished with a standing ovation from the crowd of balletomanes, Sansa’s mother among them.  
  
Shae in wardrobe shimmied Sansa out of her white tutu into the black one she would wear for the second act. The final adjustments had been made when Petyr Baelish sauntered towards her.  
  
He took her hand to kiss it, "The afterlife suits you will, my beautiful Giselle."  
  
Sansa cringed, unsure as to if Baelish wanted to kill her or fuck her. She offered him a small polite smile, "Thank you. Have you seen Margaery?" She asked, despite her better judgement.

The older man nodded towards the dressing rooms with a sly grin, "I believe I saw her following behind Harrold Hardyng. They seemed quite.. rushed."  
  
  
Since the night of her hallucination, Sansa had been chanting again and again each time the images had appeared in her dreams or in her waken state, _It's not real. It's not real. She loves me. She loves only me._  
  
  
The repetition grounded her. She knew how the story ended. Her Bathilde would die for her. But did it truly matter when she would dance herself to her demise, loving a woman she could never have in life, only in death?  
  
  
Sansa has to blink twice before her stomach drops to the floor. Harrold Hardyng has Margaery pinned to that damn wall. The brunette toes pointed like the perfect ballerina, her fingers grasped around strong biceps, her lips pressed against the blonde dancers.  
  
_It is real. It is real. She loves him. She loves another._

Sansa pushes the door of Margaery's dressing room open, the handle slamming hard against the door. Margaery pushes Harry off of her, her eyes widening. Sansa rushes down the hallway, tears of anger and jealousy brimming in her eyes.

Margaery slaps the man across his face, and follows after Sansa. She cries out, "Sansa, it's not what it looks like! Please! Let me explain!"  
  
  
**Act II**  
  
  
Tyrion Lannister takes the stage to thank the patrons for their attendance. Meanwhile Sansa musters every ounce of strength she can manage. At least her puffy eyes will look more authentic. Shae attempts to reapply her white painted face, but Sansa knows her reddened cheeks can not be concealed, no more than the scars in her heart can be covered.  
  
  
_There is beauty in sadness, truth in brokenness, love in death._  
  
  
The second act begins with Cersei dancing as Myrtha alongside her dutiful Wils, welcoming Sansa in death among them. With elegant, hesitant steps Sansa joins her sisters.  
  
  
No longer needing to fake her vengeance, Sansa is truly Giselle in the afterlife. She radiates her despise. Petyr Baelish and Harrold Hardying.. Hilarion and Albrecht.. dancing alone to their deaths to amuse Sansa.. the Wils.  
  
  
When her Bathilde takes the stage, tiptoeing passed the broken men who came before her, Sansa softens slightly. Undeterred as if the ballet's ending is her own, the lead dancer cowers behind Cersei's strong Myrtha.  
  
The Wils begin to dance off stage. After all, they only haunt the forest at night to seek revenge on _men_. Bathilde stops them, offering a third life that night if only her love may be released to peaceful rest.  
  
  
Sansa's soft dance complements Margaery's erratic steps. The hardened exterior of the redhead softening further, watching Bathilde sacrifice her own life for Giselle to find peace.  
  
Concentrating her steps, Sansa feels her head spin at the thought of Margaery doing the same for her. She lands her chaînés effortlessly. A weight lifting from her chest, but at the same moment her stomach dips when Bathilde falls in exhaustion.  
  
Giselle sees her love as broken as herself, and cradles her in her arms. Margaery squeezes Sansa's hand in hers as the stage turns black.  
  
  
When the stage beams on the two lead ballerinas once more, the Wils attempt to take Bathilde while simultaneously Hilarion and Albrecht fight in death over her lifeless figure. Margaery's movements are like a marionette as the other dancers push and pull her weight.  
  
The light of the stage becomes blinding when Sansa completes her coupé jeté en tournant. The ballerinas and danseurs turn away from Margaery and release their hold for Sansa to catch her.  
  
Catching Margaery's dead weight, Sansa then pulls the other woman to her. The tops of Margaery's feet laid flat on the stage. Sansa pulls her onto her toes and raises her chin. Their eyes meet, their foreheads touching, and they both let out a soft sigh when Margaery wraps her arms around the redhead's neck. A trapdoor opens on the stage floor and the two lead ballerinas fall together.  
  
  
The sound of the stage going black is met with a loud round of applause, but Sansa only registers it for a brief moment. Margaery is on top of her on the inflatable they have fallen to from the trap. Her expression pleads forgiveness. Sansa doesn't know why she still has her arms wrapped so tightly around Margaery nor why she feels there is nothing to forgive.  
  
Tyrion Lannister claps, "You two were absolutely astounding. I daresay I have the two best ballerinas in all of Weste..."  
  
Tyrion's words cease when Margaery captures Sansa's lips in a soft, yet hungry kiss. Sansa smiles into it. She relishes in the openness, in the pure love reverberating from Margaery's mouth into her own. She pulls Margaery closer to her, barely acknowledging Tyrion's next words.  
  
"Ah ha! I knew it! My brother owes me a hundred gold dragons. You girls are wonderful. I really would rather not interrupt, but you do have to take your final bows."

  
Sansa bites Margaery's lips, breaking their kiss. With a small moan the brunette buries her face in the crook of Sansa's neck as the redhead laughs joyfully beneath her.  
  
  
Sansa takes Margaery's hand to help her from falling off of the inflatable. She clears her throat before, "He kissed you, but you didn't kiss him."  
  
  
"I can't believe you thought for a second that I'd ever.."  
  
"I didn't. Not really. Petyr Baelish just put the idea in my head, and I couldn't unsee it. I'm sorry."  
  
"No. Don't apologize, please. I should have.. I'm tired of pretending to date men. I know it makes you insecure, and it's selfish of me. You gave up your family to follow me here, and I am tired of being with you in private. I don't want to be some sodden housewife. I want _you_.  
  
  
Sansa and Margaery were the last to take the stage. They held their hands up together, their fingers interlocked, and they bowed. Margaery turned to Sansa. Smiling affectionately at the other woman, she took her free hand and cupped Sansa's cheek, pulling her in, kissing her lips without fear but with love.  
  
  
The crowd cheered louder, even Catelyn tearing up in the audience. Feeling Margaery's lips gliding against her own, Sansa thought, _Perhaps we will have a different fate. No, I don't believe she is my tragedy at all. Even if we dance together to our death, Margaery is my happy ending, and I will follow her into the dark._


End file.
